Poison
by CherishedSong
Summary: Short drabble describing a dying Pokemon...PG-13...One-Shot...R&R please...


The moment finally came.

I could feel my insides slowly cease working, the poison slowly but painfully eating up bit after bit. It had started from my throat, the part that transferred it to the rest of my body, and from there on its entirety was beginning to burn away.

I could hear the footsteps of the people around me, sometimes a gasp or a shriek here and there, but they're always followed by something like "Don't touch it, dear, it's probably infectious." It is true, though – I am infectious, and I am untouchable; I must be avoided at all cost.

It wasn't a hard decision, really; emotional instability and social deprivation were enveloping my life, and it's only fair that the physical aspect of my self shares the pain as well.

And what's even better is that this type of physical pain will be the end of all other pains my body could conjure. It would've been idiotic of me to not make such a decision!

To be honest, though, I didn't want to die like this. I wanted to die happily, but happiness is only a mere illusion to me now. I wanted the quickest and most painful way, and I got it.

But there's one main reason I did this – it was because of _him_.

The moment he left me was more than enough of a reason for me to drink the poison. He, my master, my life, my everything – he would just go and desert me! I enjoyed being with him – no, what an understatement. I _loved_ him. I cherished every second I spent with him, even if I was inside his Pokeball; that didn't stop me from enjoying his indirect presence.

He poisoned my life. His absence slowly intoxicated my environment, my perceptions, my thoughts. Everything suddenly meant nothing to me now; my beliefs joined my disbeliefs, my joy joined my sorrow, my fullness joined my emptiness.

He left me. That bastard…

…Why the fuck did I say that?

I loved, love and will love him forever.

But he's gone.

I can't accept that!

I can't live in this poisonous dystopia called life without him; I know no one else! I was his starter Pokemon, his so-called prized possession, his ticket to being a Pokemon Master! Why would he do such a grim, malevolent thing to me?

I could still remember that exact moment. He summoned me, looked at me with an awkwardly cold face, then walked away. I instinctively followed him, but with his deep, masculine voice he told me "no".

So I stayed, and he continued walking. It didn't take me a minute to realize what was happening. I started screaming so loudly, tears beginning to fall from my jet black eyes, unfortunately knowing that all the cries meant nothing to him. He still continued walking away.

I was being released.

I never knew why he did such a thing; in fact, the day before, he told me how much he "loved" me. I never disobeyed him – sure I was immature at the start, but I immediately followed his orders, no matter how impossibly difficult they were. I accepted every punishment he gave me; my blue skin is still recovering from that accident where he exposed me to too much radiation, and my head-fin is still numb from when he unknowingly sat down on it.

The loud squeal I emitted still echoed in my ear.

His disappearance left my life hanging by a thread, and the residents of his hometown only made it worse. The kids kept throwing stones at me, seeing me as some sort of wild animal, and adults kept kicking me and trampled me under their leather-shoed feet.

Never had I imagined a Mudkip would be treated as such.

But I guess that's what life had destined for me. Maybe this moment was planned, too; somewhere, in Arceus's massive book of life, all that I've experienced and what I'm experiencing now is written, and the words "Exeunt Sinnoh, Enter Hell" finish my script.

The poison started to affect my lungs, and I suddenly felt that my nose wasn't taking in air anymore. I gasped, fearing that the lack of oxygen would kill me before the poison did. I figured, since I was dying, I wanted to choose which method I would take. Surely I would want to die in style, and death by poison is way more 'stylistic' than death by lack of oxygen.

That thought temporarily replaced my lamentations for him as I started to spit out blood. I heard more screams from the passersby, but no one dared to go near me. No one in the right mind would go straight to a trampled, blood-spitting Mudkip. I wanted to stop, but more and more of the crimson liquid exited from my mouth, creating a red puddle right in front of me for me to land on.

And I did.

I splashed into the puddle, my own blood soaking my orange cheeks and pale blue skin. I felt the air inside me instantly dwindle, an effect of both my dysfunctional nose and poisoned body.

The moment arrived.

The poison inside my body was successful.

I pictured his handsome, young face in my head as my eyes were permanently shut. That was the picture I kept until my status was transformed from fainted to deceased.

I leave this dystopia.

And enter another.


End file.
